


for me

by ayuminb



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (this is how i cope), (this is me trying to come to terms with the cut off scene), Ambiguously Implied Jon/Sansa, Canon Compliant, F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 14:05:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12985641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayuminb/pseuds/ayuminb
Summary: Jon is leaving behind a part of himself, the most important part of himself. With her. For her.





	for me

The sound of his steps reverberates all around him, amplifying in the hallowed paths of the crypts, hurried and heavy and _angry_.

 

Gods have _mercy_ , but he’s so angry.

 

He had thought he’d be satisfied with just an exchange of words. He should’ve known better – the moment the man approached him as he tried to pay his respect to Father, his hands had _itched_ for action the same way they did when he’d finally come face to face with Ramsay Bolton.

 

Jon really should’ve _known_ this would happen.

 

It doesn’t help that he’d felt a thrill of satisfaction at the painful grunt that escaped Littlefinger when he’d slammed him against the wall. That he’d very nearly squeezed the life out of him – in a moment of clarity that both thrilled him and scared him, Jon is acutely aware that he had wanted to kill Petyr Baelish with his own bare hands.

 

Watch the light leave his eyes.

 

_“Touch my sister, and I’ll kill you myself.”_

 

And now he’s leaving, and Sansa will be at Littlefinger’s mercy— _no_. His hands clench, spasmodically, as he storms out of the crypts. _No_ , he’ll be damned before leaving his sister without protection. Someone he can trust blindly to really protect her—

 

The bump against his shoulder derails his thoughts for a second, before bringing them to a screeching halt.

 

—but of _course_.

 

Jon feels the tension leave him in a rush, as he turns to face Ghost – then his chest constricts painfully as the solution to his problems makes itself clear. He’d thought, vaguely, but he’d _thought_ —Ghost would not like the South. It’d never been a question of whether he’d come with him or not, he’d assumed, but _now_. Suddenly the prospect of leaving seems even less appealing.

 

Doubly painful – agonizingly so.

 

“Ghost,” it’s only a whisper, but his loyal companion step closer, lowers his head so Jon can pet him easily. “I don’t want to leave.”

 

It doesn’t really shock him to say this, for it is the absolute truth.

 

Jon threads his fingers through Ghost’s fur, notes it feels softer than usual; the smirk tugs at his lips and he can picture it so fucking _clearly_ – Sansa sitting in her solar while Ghost lays docile at her feet, all too happy to let her brush his fur and shower him with affection to her heart’s content. She would; she _does_.

 

“Take care of her,” he whispers, pulls the silent direwolf into a hug, one he submits willingly, and closes his eyes shut tight, “watch over her for me.”

 

He lets go, takes a step back and pats Ghost’s head one more time. Ghost looks at him for a second longer, and then trots off, crossing the courtyard silently and quickly. Jon watches him go, stops at the archway as he pulls on his gloves; it’s instinct what draws his gaze up, it’s _her_.

 

It’s always Sansa.

 

Breath catching, heart stuttering; his chest clenches painfully. He’s _leaving_ her; he’s known that for days, and still nothing makes it easier. But they’ve spent months together, day in and day out, and now—now _he’s leaving her_. Sansa does not look at him, is probably unaware of his staring— _let me have this moment_ —as she herself tracks Ghost’s movements across the yard. Let him burn this one moment into his mind.

 

With a sigh he strides towards the stable boy awaiting him with his horse. He thanks the boy as he takes the reigns, and then swings onto his mount. _Go on_ , he thinks, _go on, ride. Ride, don’t look back_. The horse stamps its hoofs on the ground restlessly, but Jon doesn’t urge it to move. _Ride, there’s no need to look back, no need_.

 

A shiver runs down his back – he turns around.

 

Sansa looks at him _now_ , gaze softening when their eyes meet; it’s only a moment and only ever to lightly but he’s gifted with a smile that makes his heart skip several beats and a hand waving goodbye. He returns the gesture even before he can fully process it; smile pulling up one corner of his mouth as his hand lifts in a slow motion.

 

_Leave now. There’s no reason to keep dallying; leave._

 

The men accompanying him to Dragonstone await his cue; Jon gives none. He stares, again willing himself to burn this moment into his very soul – the echo of his words circles his mind.

 

_Take care of her. Watch over her for me._

 

Ghost, a silent as his namesake, walks up behind Sansa even though she remains unaware, looking at him. And it suddenly _occurs_ to him—Jon is leaving behind a part of himself, the most important part of himself. _With her_.

 

For her.

 

And then he turns; then, finally, Jon rides off.

 

_For me._

**Author's Note:**

> *cries for a thousand years*


End file.
